Skin Mags and Shaving Cream
by jojospn
Summary: SPOILERS for season 8. A grief stricken Sam endures his first real Christmas without Dean. Set while Dean is in Purgatory.


**A/N: I got the idea for this one after watching "A Very Supernatural Christmas" (which is definitely on my list of yearly Christmas specials). This is based particularly on the scene when the brothers exchange gifts in their motel after Sam finally agrees to celebrate the holiday. This isn't going to be your typical, happy Winchester Christmas story, though (and my regular readers probably aren't surprised). I hope you enjoy and have a wonderful holiday season!**

**Skin Mags and Shaving Cream**

Christmas lights; mistletoe; gaily wrapped presents beneath the Christmas tree. It was exactly the holiday Sam Winchester had always dreamed of having, and had been neglected. The mouthwatering scent of gingerbread baking in the oven and the gentle crooning of Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" on the stereo should have been a comfort to him, a warm embrace after years of beer can wreaths and Charlie Brown Christmas trees (if the Winchesters were lucky). But this year, amidst the holly and warm atmosphere, Sam felt an ache, an emptiness he hadn't had since that horrible spring Dean had gone to Hell.

Dean. He should be here with him, gorging on food and making inappropriate jokes, teasing him about his girlfriend, Amelia. He should be sharing a beer, or some spiked egg nog with his brother, sharing hunting stories or just watching the stars until dawn. Instead he was gone. Vanished without a trace, more than likely dead. Sam sighed, fighting off the tears that threatened to spill. It was still a few hours before dawn; Amelia would still be asleep for a while longer. At least he could break down without her pity. He loved her, knew she had endured a similar situation after the death of her husband. But Sam just couldn't deal with her attempts at comfort. It was hard enough sometimes on any other day, but holidays were the worst. Sam's first birthday without Dean; Thanksgiving...Sam couldn't even imagine how rough Dean's birthday would be.

"You can do this," he told the reflection in the bathroom mirror. Drawing a deep breath, Sam picked up his razor, determined to look at least somewhat presentable for Amelia. He can't have her worrying about him. Not on Christmas Day.

"_Merry Christmas Sam."_

"_Skin mags!... and shaving cream!"_

Sam looked down at the can of Gillete on the sink; and felt a single tear slide down his cheek. He remembered that Christmas all too well. The one in Minnesota, after the brothers had defeated that pagan god. Dean had insisted on celebrating that year, but Sam had refused, for the same reasons his brother had been so adamant. It would have been his last one.

_But it wasn't. _Another tear as Sam looked back at the last December 24th. They hadn't even bothered celebrating, instead spending the season on another hunt. If only they had known that last year would have been Dean's last Christmas... Sam dropped the razor, the device crashing into the sink; he clutched the porcelain with both hands until his wrists ached and his knuckles turned white. This was not Christmas. No Hallmark moments, no fresh baked goodies, not even Amelia, could make him happy. Only Dean. That cocky grin, the seemingly never ending barrage of tasteless jokes and smartass remarks. _That_ was what Christmas was to Sam. He closed his eyes, recalling all the times he had complained about the half assed attempts at holidays he had endured as a child. _Why can't we have a Christmas tree, Dean? Why can't we go to mass?Why is Dad hardly ever home for Christmas?_ But now, Sam would trade all the mistletoe and poinsettias in the world, if only he could have his brother back.

He wanted Dean.

Suddenly the bathroom seemed incredibly claustrophobic. He stormed out the door, nearly tripping on the pile of dirty laundry in the bedroom, practically ran downstairs and into the garage where the Impala was parked, protected by a heavy tarp. Struggling to swallow the lump forming in his throat, he fumbled for the keys, slid behind the wheel. As he felt the familiar cool of the steering wheel beneath his fingers, he found his vision drawn to the glove box. Involuntarily, he pulled the lever, reaching inside the compartment. There, carefully wrapped in tissue paper, was the amulet he had given Dean for Christmas all those years ago, the one Dean had tossed in the garbage in a fit of anger and grief. Gently Sam pushed aside the brittle folds of paper, until the necklace rested gently in the palm of his hand, the metal pendant warm to the touch from months stored in the glove box.

"_That's for Dad."_

"_Dad lied to me. I want you to have it."_

Sam looked down at the charm, the one his brother had loved so much. And he broke down, sobbing in the seat of the car he and Dean had called home for years. For several minutes he cried, shaking in grief, until finally, dawn breaking overhead, he climbed out of the car, headed back inside, sliding beneath the covers beside Amelia. His fingers slid under the pillowslip, brushing against the magazine hidden there. Amelia had found it and assumed Sam had simply been indulging in a few bad habits. Little did she know that the two ageing volumes were the last Christmas present he had ever received from Dean.

Sam sighed, fingering the amulet he now wore around his neck. Outside, the first rays of morning light peaked from behind the blinds.

"Merry Christmas, Dean."


End file.
